


Ursa Major

by siriusblue



Series: In A Hundred Lifetimes [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bears, Beer, First Meetings, M/M, Photography, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: National Park Ranger Greg Lestrade meets an English photographer in less than perfect circumstances but if retirement has taught Greg anything, it's to take your chances when you can.





	Ursa Major

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Copgirl1964](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/gifts).

> This fic was written for the Rupert Graves Birthday Auction for copgirl1964 who bid very generously on my scribblings. She asked for Park Ranger Greg and photographer/hiker Mycroft. I do hope this is what you wanted, my dear.

URSA MAJOR

  
  
  


Greg Lestrade pulled into the Rangers' parking lot of Yosemite National Park and got out, breathing deeply of the crisp morning air. 

He loved this time of the year when Nature was bursting with life and the Park wasn't too full of tourists intent on giving him a headache.

He went into the station to grab a cup of their industrial-strength coffee to start his morning and to see what, if anything, had transpired during the night. 

He smiled at the people he passed and received smiles and a word or two in return. In his twenty years as a San Francisco homicide detective he had never received such warm greetings and it reinforced the belief that he had quit the force at exactly the right time.

Greg had felt no urge to gain his P.I. licence or to open a bar like so many other retired cops; the lure of the outdoors had always exerted a strong pull on him and when he found that the Park Rangers were hiring, he didn't hesitate and he had never regretted his decision.

"Morning, Greg." Betsy, the Head Ranger for his section of Yosemite, frowned at the paper in her hand.

"Morning, Betsy. What have you got for me today?"

She was still frowning and Greg felt a prickle of unease.

"Not much really. There's been quite a bit of bear activity. For some reason they're congregating near the southwest trail. We're advising any hikers to avoid it for now but I'm not sure everyone's got the message."

She brandished the paper in her hand.

"Looks like a few more folks arrived last night so can you swing by the RV park and spread the word? Take the paintball gun with you, hon, just in case."

"I'll get right on it," agreed Greg, making his way to the armoury and checking out a paintball gun and a stock of ammo.

He picked up his radio and keys from the control room and headed out, whistling.

*

Greg pulled up just shy of the RV park and got out, making sure his vehicle was locked. He had a list of the new arrivals license plates and hoped to catch nearly all of them before they started enjoying their day.

He lucked out on the first one; a young family who listened gravely to Greg's words and informed him they would go look at the waterfalls instead. The little boy in this mother's arms made faces at Greg, he made faces back which made the little one giggle and squirm.

"Make sure your unit is completely locked down and keep everything edible out of sight," Greg reminded them. 

"We will," said the father earnestly.

Ticking them off the list, Greg found a newly-wed couple still in their unit. He repeated the bear warning and they assured him they weren't planning on venturing far that day.

Greg felt a tiny stab of envy at their incandescent happiness. Love had never happened for him. Liberal San Francisco hadn't even raised an eyebrow at having an openly-gay officer on their books but, though he had never lacked for partners, love had always eluded him and sometimes he felt the loss keenly.

The last RV on his list was a VW campervan with an empty look to it. No one replied to his firm knock and he sighed.

"I think he went out early," said one of the new husbands. "English guy. Very polite. Had a camera with him and headed off that way," he concluded helpfully, pointing southwest.

"Damnation," huffed Greg. "I'd better try and catch up with him. Thanks, friend. Enjoy your day."

Muttering to himself, Greg got back into his jeep and headed for the hiking trail, hoping he caught up with the English guy before the bears did.

*

Mycroft Holmes stopped and looked around him, his photographer's eye drinking in every little detail of the incredible scenery. He drank a little of the water from his daypack and wiped his forehead. Even this early in the year, California was warm.

He adjusted the settings on his camera and fired off a couple of shots of the majestic sequoias Yosemite was so famous for. It made such a lovely change from photographing people;supermodels and their diva-ish demands, film stars unable to be accessed due to the size of their entourage, business leaders who had succeeded on the backs of others less fortunate. Mycroft was past flirting with the idea of retirement, they were engaged and religiously checking the cosy-cottage-in-the-country 'for sale' ads.

He checked his map of the park and saw that he wasn't too far from a picnic area. Deciding he needed a break, he set off again.

He had only gone a couple of feet when he heard someone shouting. Bemused, he turned around to see one of the park rangers yelling and waving his hands at him. Mycroft trotted back towards the wildly-flailing man to see what all the fuss was about.

He was more than slightly alarmed to see that the ranger was carrying an odd-shaped gun.

"Is there something wrong?" Mycroft asked.

"Sir, will you please get behind me and make as much noise as you can," ordered Greg.

Mycroft looked at him in disbelief, yet the silver-haired man didn't appear to be kidding.

His disbelief turned to utter horror when he saw the bear.

Greg was impressed by the English guy's bloodcurdling scream, to which Greg added his own bestial roar.

The bear, a young adult in Greg's estimation, did not seem inclined to move away so slowly and deliberately Greg sighted down the barrel and shot it in the hindquarters. Twice.

With a yelp and eyeroll worthy of any teenager, the bear lumbered off into the trees and Greg breathed a sigh of relief before turning to get a proper look at the tourist.

Tall and willowy with auburn hair peeking out from under his sensible hat, he was chalk white which threw the smattering of freckles on his face into sharp relief and there was still a look of fear in his aquamarine eyes.

"That...that...a bear...I…" Mycroft gurgled.

Greg's expression softened. Poor guy probably hadn't expected that when he set out to sniff the daisies that morning, or whatever he had planned. 

"It's fine." Greg soothed. "He's gone. They're mostly wary of people but occasionally they need reminding to stay away."

"You shot it!" Mycroft protested.

"With a paintball," Greg assured him. "Stings a touch, makes them think twice about coming closer. No harm done, I promise."

"I don't know how to thank you," said Mycroft; a near-death experience was no excuse for bad manners.

"Just doing my job, sir." Greg replied.

"Mycroft." said Mycroft, extending his hand. "Mycroft Holmes."

They shook hands, Mycroft's pale fingers vanishing into Greg's tanned fist.

"Greg Lestrade. Good to meet you, Mycroft. Now, where there's one bear, there's usually more. I'll give you a ride back to your RV, just to be on the safe side."

"That's very nice of you, Greg. I won't say no as I think a change of underpants might be in order." Mycroft said wryly and was rewarded with a throaty chuckle from the man steering him towards a Park Services jeep.

"You won't be the last," said Greg as they got in and he switched on the ignition. "So what brings you to Yosemite, Mycroft? Vacation?"

"Of sorts. I'm considering retirement and I thought that some time in nature might help me think."

"Okay. Lemmee tell you, retiring was the best move for me. Got me a job I love in the most beautiful place on Earth."

"California is beautiful," said Mycroft wistfully. "I've been to San Francisco many times but never had the chance to explore or visit outside the city. Like most places. I'm usually so busy with work there's no time for sightseeing. I want  _ this " _ He gestured at the passing scenery. "To be the rule rather than the exception."

"Sounds to me like your mind's made up," said Greg with a smile. "Your folks will be pleased to see more of you."

"No folks. Not unless you count my little brother but I rarely see him these days. He's teaching at the Bolshoi now."

Greg whistled, impressed. 

"You're not a dancer then?" Greg asked.

"God no. Too much like hard work. I'm a photographer. Not wildlife, you probably guessed. Not unless you count the Oscars after- parties."

Greg's throaty laugh rattled around the jeep like a trapped bat and Mycroft couldn't help but smile.

"Talented family. You any good at photography, Mycroft?"

Mycroft had a vision of his mantlepiece at home that was groaning from all the awards he had won in his enviable career.

"I'm fairly competent," he teased. "Why do you ask?"

"Just that the Park is always looking for fresh material for their website and their other publicity stuff. If you were interested, that is."

"I'll give it some consideration," replied Mycroft. He became aware of the jeep slowing down.

"RV park is just ahead," said Greg. "I should get back to work."

"I can't thank you enough," said Mycroft. "Let me buy you a drink to properly show my gratitude."

"Not many bars around here," said Greg, a naughty twinkle in his eye. "Though the trading post has a fair selection of beers. I could swing by here after shift if you're serious?"

" _ Very  _ serious." Mycroft screwed up every bit of his courage. "I'd very much like to see you again, Greg. Talk some more, if you would like that."

"Oh, yeah. I'll stop by around seven if that's okay."

"Seven it is. I look forward to it."

With a wink and a tip of his hat, Greg drove off leaving Mycroft to his scattered thoughts. He unlocked the camper and climbed inside, grateful for the shelter. If he ever got round to telling Sherlock about the encounter with the bear, his little brother would piss himself laughing. Who cared? He had won, through very little effort on his part, an evening in the company of one of the most gorgeous men Mycroft had ever seen and,coming from someone who spent the majority of his time among the beautiful, that was quite an admission. Deeply tanned with that exquisite silver hair and those peat-brown eyes, Mycroft was fiercely attracted to the handsome Ranger.

He knew that it was ridiculous to have a crush at his age but Greg would be here in a few scant hours and the memory of their evening together would keep him warm all the way back to London. He'd better get prepared.

*

Seven o'clock came and went and, if there had been a ceiling, someone would have needed to talk Mycroft down off it.

He needlessly rearranged the platter of nibbles he had set out to accompany the case of beer he had bought, just for something to occupy his hands. 

Greg wasn't coming. He'd changed his mind. He'd been eaten by a bear. He'd fallen over a waterfall. He…

"Hi, Mycroft. Sorry I'm late. Paperwork's a bitch, ain't it?"

Mycroft stood there with his mouth open at the vision that had strolled casually onto his pitch. Dressed in jeans and an emerald green shirt that flattered his colouring, Greg looked the very image of masculine beauty.

"It's fine," Mycroft croaked. "Please. Sit down and I'll get you that beer."

Greg did as he was told, stretching out his long legs in front of him. He took the proffered beer from Mycroft, screwed off the top and took a deep swallow.

"Nothing hits the spot like a cold beer after a long day," said Greg. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. You were right about the beer selection, by the way. I hope this is acceptable as you didn't strike me as a man who favoured light beer."

"This is perfect. You're right, I'm all about full-bodied. I like a robust red as well when I have a taste for wine."

"Quite right too. Nothing wishy-washy."

Greg's smile could easily outshine the sun, Mycroft thought.

"I love hearing you talk. That accent is amazing. Oh, didn't mean to make you blush. My bad."

"Think nothing of it," said a pink-cheeked Mycroft, pushing the tray of food towards Greg. "The trading post also does an acceptable range of nibbles. Do help yourself, Greg."

"This is a real treat, Mycroft. Better than chips and dip any day," said Greg helping himself to olives and a handful of bruschetta. "Why ain't you drinking?"

Mycroft quickly opened a beer and felt the tension leave him as the beer fizzed into his system.

"There," said Greg with a roguish grin. "Better?"

"Much, thanks." Mycroft confessed. "If I might be so bold, what did you do before you came to work here? I'm guessing...police officer?"

Greg toasted him with his bottle.

"Very perceptive. I was a homicide detective. How'd you know?"

"I observe people all the time. You're very authoritative. The way you hold yourself and handle a weapon screams law enforcement or military. The fact that you're here tonight suggests the former, I have found policemen to be incredibly curious."

"Not bad. You might have made a good detective yourself. I looked you up. Just what was on Google, I'm not a creeper. Talk about hiding your light under a bushel, Mycroft. Some of your photographs...they're works of art."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Mycroft, blushing again. "So why did you retire? Please tell me if I'm being too obtrusive."

"Not obtrusive, no. Tell you the truth I could listen to you talk the sun up and not get tired of hearing you."

Mycroft handed him another beer, glad of the twilight that hid yet another blush.

"Well, I had my twenty in. Good pension and I was still young enough to do something else. Plus it was getting more and more dangerous every day. It wasn't my city any more. That's when I knew it was time to quit."

"I've been considering the same." mused Mycroft. " All this new technology and people who are famous for being famous. I can't keep up with the young ones."

He stifled a yelp as Greg's hand brushed his as it rested on the table.

"I think you know what you need to do," said Greg softly. "Find a new life for yourself. Somewhere that makes you happy."

"Yes," breathed Mycroft.

"Somewhere without bears," said Greg, deadpan.

Mycroft cracked up and so did Greg, the building tension effectively shattered.

The pair demolished the last of the beer and food as they talked about everything and nothing and Greg looked almost mournful as he looked at the empty plates.

"Guess I should say goodnight," Greg ventured.

"Oh. I mean, yes." Mycroft replied, flustered.

"You're a real sweet guy, Mycroft." Greg said, the beer making him bold. "How about I take you to dinner tomorrow night? There's this lovely little place on Fisherman's Wharf. The clam chowder is to die for."

Mycroft smiled and took Greg's hand in his.

"I'd really like that," he replied.

"Great," said Greg, relieved. "I'll swing by at seven and pick you up."

"I'll look forward to it," smiled Mycroft.

He stood up at the same time as Greg and they were only a handspan apart.

"I really like you," said Greg. "Can I kiss you?"

"You'd better," said Mycroft. "I've wanted you to ever since you shot that bloody bear."

Smiling, Greg leant in and drew Mycroft close to him. One hand stroked Mycroft's cheek.

"So gorgeous," sighed Greg as he pressed his lips to Mycroft's.

He revelled in how well their bodies fit together, the smell of shampoo and a hint of cologne from Mycroft and the taste of beer on his lips before Mycroft deepened the kiss, Greg's lips parting willingly to allow Mycroft to taste, to explore. Mycroft's hands moving slowly over his back made Greg sigh with pleasure, knowing he would be miserable until he could experience it again and when the kiss broke, both men looked bereft.

"I gotta go now or I'll never leave," Greg confessed, smiling when he saw that  _ that _ idea wasn't wholly unwelcome. It boded well for their date the following night. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You will, my dear. Barring bears of course."

"Of course," laughed Greg and kissed him again.

The End.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
